Beware the Queen of Spades
by Chaos-harbinger
Summary: When the Devil's Gate was opened, a lot of demons escaped. Some had an agenda. Since the gate has been opened, a string of murders has spanned the country and with no leads, not even supernatural ones, the Winchesters are running out of time.
1. Chapter 1

A year and a half ago.

"Are you Walter Burgess?" A short balding man in a coke bottle glasses, carrying a brief case, turned around at the sound of his name. He was a middle aged, pathetic looking accountant that went home night after night to a loveless marriage, so when a leggy brunette asked who he was, he wasn't about to look a gift horse in the mouth. She was svelte where he was pudgy. She was calm where he was breaking out into a light, nervous sweat. She stood there, looking intently at him, her arms crossed over her chest, waiting for his answer. He thought just this once, he'd go out to the bar with everyone else after work instead of just lumbering home. Perhaps one of the guys in the office thought this was a nice joke to play on the new comer. She was beginning to look impatient as he tried to find his voice, her eyes turned black. Her entire eye! No pupil or white or iris, just straight black. Then she raised her hand at him, palm facing forward.

"It's just a formality anyway. I don't have all day." There was a bright flash that seemed to come from the woman's hand and Walter threw up his arm to cover his eyes. Then he felt like his skin was crawling. It itched and burned and was immensely painful. He'd never felt anything like it in his life. A scream ripped from his lips as his body seemed to melt back into the wall behind him. There was a distinct impression of the outline of his flabby, middle aged body on the wall, made of blood, like he was just smear on the wall and never a person.

"One down, a couple hundred more to go." The leggy brunette smirked and turned around, walking away, the only sound were her heals clicking on the cement as she disappeared into the night.

Now

Cassandra Taylor had always had fabulously bad luck. In fact, her entire family was chronically unlucky. Her sister would fall on a random banana peel someone had tossed onto the sidewalk as she got out of her car. Her uncle would do everything he could to avoid any superstitions, like walking under ladders and black cats and opening umbrellas indoors, but somehow, bad luck would find him. Like a hole in the roof on a very rainy day, said roof caving in when he went up there to fix it. It was something they had all come to live with and take in stride. Cassandra herself was always a bit more special than her sisters. From a young age she would have "dreams" that she noticed would come true with alarming frequency. She also learned not to tell anyone about these dreams but still guide her family in the right direction to avoid some particularly nasty outcomes. Now, however, was the first time she'd dreamt of her own demise.

She was running after someone, hand outstretched toward their back. The person off in the distance wore a worn leather jacket, shoulders hunched to ward off the biting cold. She called out, though what she said she couldn't hear. The person turned and she saw it was a man, his face partially hidden in shadow, but his short brown hair and hazel eyes caught the light in the dimming day. His arm raised up and in his hand was a gun, a revolver with a long, narrow barrel. Cassandra froze. He was her friend, which was the feeling she got from him. What was going on? There was a muzzle flash and she felt the bullet slam into her chest. Into her heart. Slumping to the ground, she felt the life seep out of her as the man in leather walked over and leaned down next to her. He whispered something in her ears as her eyes closed forever.

Cassandra woke up screaming, causing her oldest sister to come running into her room. Cassandra herself was looking down at her chest for any sign of mortal injury. She tugged at the collar of her tank top to find a baseball sized bruise on the left side of her chest.

"What the hell is that?!" Cherie, Cassandra's older sister asked, looking at her sister in concern. The trade mark red hair that ran in the family was a mess, looking like a rat's nest on top of her sister's head. If Cassandra hadn't grown up with seeing that every morning, she would have screamed again. But right now she was too preoccupied to comment on her sister's choice of hair styles.

"That's never happened before," She muttered to herself, gently touching the area around the bruise.

"What's never happened before? What's going on?! Are you on drugs?" Cherie had both hands on either side of the door frame, holding herself up as she glared suspiciously at her sister. Another tuft of red hair could be seen peeking out from behind her shoulder, looking wide-eyed and curious as to what was going on at 3:30 in the morning.

"No, no. No drugs. Bad dream, very bad dream." Cassandra leveled a gaze at Charlie, who was still hiding behind their older sister. Charlie knew about Cassandra's bad dreams, and what they meant, which also told her to be careful the next few days. They would talk in the morning about it. Cherie's gaze just softened and she nodded, thinking she knew what the dream was about.

"I musta hit myself or something when I was thrashing around. Sorry." Cassandra looked sheepishly at Cherie before sinking back down onto the bed. Cherie just shook her head and let go of the door frame, her shoulders slumping with released tension.

"Just…..get some sleep will you? We all have to be up early tomorrow and this isn't helping." Cherie sighed and turned to go back to bed, grabbing Charlie along the way and herding her to her room.

"Yeees master….riiight awwaayy master….anything for you master….." Cassandra called after Cherie in a poor attempt at an Igor impersonation. Cherie just tossed a glare at her over the shoulder as she went back to bed with her husband. Cassandra rolled over and attempted to get back to sleep but she had the dream several more times that night. Never once did she hear what he was whispering to her. The last time, she thought she had something when she heard him start to say "Have some sympathy, and some taste. Use all your well-learned politesse or I'll lay your soul to waste. Pleased to meet you, hope you guessed my name." Then she realized he was singing and he sounded an awful lot like Mic Jagger. Groaning she sat up as the song ended on her clock radio and the announcer came on with a voice way to cheery for her liking this early in the morning.

"And that was The Rolling Stones with Sympathy for the Devil. Up next we have some Nickleback lined up for you as well as Taylor Swift, so stay tuned. But before we get to that it's time for some local news. Another family was found murdered last night, the latest in a string of murders occurring within the past year and across the nation that have investigators baffled. Reports say that the remains of four bodies were found early this morning by a family friend. In other news, police raided a-" Cassandra reached over and hit the clock radio and swung her legs off the edge of the bed, letting her toes scrunch in the carpet before standing up with a yawing stretch. She went through her morning routine, forgoing the shower because all she had today was a midterm and Charlie would be up soon to whinge about it if she wasn't in on time. Apparently fifteen year olds needed lots of time to look like they just rolled out of bed.

Throwing on a pair of jeans and a t-shirt that said "Good morning. Let the stress begin" on it, she grumbled incoherently as she stumbled down the stairs and groped around the kitchen. She was always first up so it was her delegated duty to make the coffee. She did it automatically; put the water in the coffee maker and threw two scoops of coffee grinds into the filter and hit the on switch. Shuffling around the kitchen, Cassandra felt like a zombie, waiting for the coffee to perk. She numbly opened the pantry and grabbed a box of cereal, pouring into a bowl before shuffling over to the fridge to grab the milk.

By now, the smell of coffee had permeated the whole house, and had drawn Cherie and her husband from their cave. Cassandra grabbed a cup from the cupboard and filled it with the sweet nectar of life, coffee. Taking a whiff, she could feel her body come alive and toss off the zombie-like state with every sip she took. Her sister stumbled over in her fuzzy robe and Oscar the Grouch slippers, crazy bed head ever worse than last night, followed by Steve, his short black hair also sticking up at odd angles. He scratched his bare chest before reaching up and grabbing two more cups as Cherie grabbed her flavored coffee creamer from the fridge. Cassandra leaned back against the counter and watched the transformation that came over her family because of a little java bean.

"Morning," she grinned at them. This family loved coffee, was addicted to it. And it was hilarious to watch how they came alive after a couple of sips, it was like a cartoon.

"Morning Cass. Hope you slept better after your little dream last night." Steve said as he sat down at the table.

"Yup," She lied as she downed the rest of her coffee, looking at the clock. "Okay I have only a midterm today, so I may get home in time to take her royal highness to school." Cassandra looked pointedly at the ceiling, hearing the shower turn on as she did so. "I'll see you guys later."

About forty five minutes later, Cassandra stretched and checked her watch, smiling to herself. She had finished her midterm with enough time to take her little sister to school. It would be the perfect time to talk about her dream. Today was turning out to be a rather nice day, even if she had to watch out for men in leather jackets. She walked back to her car in high spirits. That's when her phone rang. She pulled it out of her pocket and smiled as she looked at the caller ID. Flipping open the phone, she grinned.

"Yeah? You done with your shower beauty queen?"

"Oh har har, Cass. Are you heading home? I hear you get to take me to school today." Charlie's voice filtered through the ear piece. Despite the hard time she gave her sister, as was her right to do, she loved her.

"Yeah, I'll be there…..in a little….I'll call you back, 'k?" Cassandra was almost to her car when she saw two guys walking toward her. They seemed to be arguing over a piece of paper. But that's not what she was looking at. The shorter of the two had cropped brown hair and a worn leather jacket, he looked up to find her staring and he smiled at her with a Casanova grin.

"Cass? Cass, you there?" She could hear her sister's worried tone coming from the phone as she turned to run. But as she turned, a painful headache brought her to her knees, the phone skittering away across the ground. A pained gasp escaped her lips and she grabbed her head as a vision swam before her eyes.

Blood, blood seemed to be smeared everywhere in the room. The room itself looked familiar to Cassandra though the image was so blurry she could barely make anything out. Certain things started to become clear, like the back door. It had been shattered, glass twinkling in the light that filtered through. The blinding pain made it hard for her to focus, but she tried. She took in the room, the way way the couches were set up to face a tv in the corner. Next to the tv was a bookshelf topped with photoframes but she couldn't see any of the photos; they were all covered in blood. That's when she noticed the two people in the room. A tall brunette in a black tank top and jeans was standing over someone. That's when she saw the beat up Oscar the Grouch slippers and the fuzzy robe. Cherie was on her knees begging for her life and she screamed as a bright flash of light came from the woman and her sister was reduced to nothing but a smear on the wall. Two words echo over and over as the pain began to fade. "Cassie's coming. Cassie's coming."


	2. Chapter 2

_27 Hours earlier_

The phone rang on the nightstand next to the tacky motel bed and a hand shot out from under the paisley covers and groped around blindly. Fingers wrapped around the rectangular object and flipped it open before retreating back under the covers. A very croaky, "hello?" was issued into the receiver.

"Dean, it's Bobby. I think I cracked it." Dean pushed back the covers and rubbed his eyes with the heel of his hand. Then he glanced over at the cheap motel clock, groaning.

"It's four am, Bobby, what are you talking about?"

"The murders, Dean. The ones that have been getting national news since last year? The ones where nothing is left of the victim but a smear on the wall?"

Dean sat up now, his attention on Bobby. They had always suspected a demon was behind it, because no human had that kind of power. It was killing in a seemingly random pattern. But if Bobby had figured out something….

"I've figured out how it chooses it's victims." Dean leaned across the small gap between the beds and shook Sam awake. They'd let this demon roam free long enough.

Sam pushed Dean's hand away and rolled over, but Dean persisted.

"Hang on Bobby, gotta wake up sleeping beauty." Dean got up and jumped on top of his brother, earning him a loud groan as Sam pushed him off.

"C'mon Dean, knock it off."

"Rise and shine, Sammy. We got us a job."

Sam groaned again, "Dean, we just got off a job." He glanced over at the clock and also groaned at the time. They had just gotten in two hours ago.

"It's about that demon who's been using people as paint." That got Sam's attention. Dean put the phone on speaker as Sam swung his legs over the side of the bed and sat up. Dean held the phone out between them.

"Alright Bobby, tell us whatcha got."

"They're all related."

"Uh…Bobby, don't you think someone would have realized that by now?" Sam asked confusedly.

"Sam, I'm not talkin' about first and second cousins here. I'm talkin' about being related to a man who died over 600 years ago. There's hundreds of them. Many people don't know their families outside of their grandparents and great grandparents. Nobody's thought to look back that far."

"So this demon's chopping limbs off the family tree. Got any theories as to why?" Dean mused.

"Still workin' on it, though Ruby might be able to give some insight."

"Uh….huh. Well Bobby you called us. I take it you got someplace for us to go."

"Yeah I'll email you a picture of the next person if I'm following this all right. You find her, you'll find her family. I only know what school she's going to."

"Any particular reason you can't give us an address?" Dean put the phone down on the nightstand and got up, slipping on his jeans, packing what they had in the room as he continued to listen to Bobby.

"She likes to keep a low profile. It's not my place to go into why but once you find her just tell her I sent you. She'll understand." Dean stopped at that and glanced over at Sam. They both knew what that meant. Not many people knew Bobby outside of the hunting world. He was a well of information that most hunters called on when they had encountered things they had no idea how to handle. So the fact that it had taken Bobby this long to figure out how this demon was picking it's targets was frustrating.

"So she's a hunter?" Sam inquired.

"Part time. Her sister got tired of her moving around constantly and dragged her back home. She takes cases as she sees them in her area or I'll call her from time to time. She's got a new number now though so I can't reach her. How fast can you get to Colorado Springs?"

_Now_

Dean dug around the trunk of the Impala, sifting through numerous identities, of FBI, CIA, Homeland Security, Wildlife Fish and Game.

"So how're we gonna do this, Sammy? Fed's? Local police? Homeland Security?" He paused in his search to look at his brother. Sam just shook his head as he leaned against the side of the trunk.

"Dean, did you ever think that if we go in there flashing badges, she might get spooked and run? Hunters don't exactly get along with law enforcement." Dean closed the trunk to the Impala a little hard and rested his hands on it as he looked at Sam.

"Well then what do you suggest college boy? We're on a college campus, these are your people. You _obviously_ know how to handle them better than I do." Sam rolled his eyes in response to Dean's sarcasm and pushed away from the car. He started walking toward the main building on campus from the parking lot. Dean jogged up beside him and put his hands in his pockets, retrieving the picture they'd printed out from Bobby's email. They'd talked to Bobby a little more on their drive, trying to theorize why this demon was killing these people. Not that Dean much cared. A demon's a demon, and they all should die. They did figure out it was being methodical, going from state to state, like it had a grid laid out and was checking each square. Colorado Springs seemed like a likely next stop for it. It had made stops in St. John's and Flagstaff before skipping over to Los Alamos right outside of Albuquerque. On the road they heard about a family found in Walsenburg and Bobby told them to step on it.

Bobby talked about this girl almost the same way he talked about Sam and Dean. There was worry in his voice but they held onto the fact that there hadn't been any reported murders in Colorado Springs. Dean looked at the last picture Bobby had of her. It was a graduation photo. She obviously cared enough about Bobby to send him photos because this one was scanned, not copy and pasted from somewhere. He kept wondering just how they were going to find her.

"I got it," Sam said, drawing Dean out of his reverie. "We scout the campus today to see if we see her. If not, we'll do it your way tomorrow."

"Fine." It wasn't a bad plan, but Dean didn't want to admit that to Sam. He passed the photo over to his brother to look over and scanned the parking structure. Low and behold there she was. They were never this lucky. He thought he would try the old lost tourist trick to get her attention. It usually worked on any female he wanted to get information from them with charm. She looked up and saw him and suddenly looked very perturbed, almost scared.

"Excuse me," Dean called out to her, making Sam look up as well. To their surprise, she turned to run. She got a couple of steps before crashing to her knees, holding her head. Something was wrong. Sam looked over at Dean before they both ran over to her. The pained expression on her face was all too familiar to them.

"Bobby didn't tell us she was a psychic." Sam looked down at Cassandra, unable to do much until the vision passed. It was the first time he'd seen it from the outside. No wonder Dean always had that worried look when he came out of a vision. She jolted forward, her hands catching the ground, stopping her from going farther.

"Charlie," her voice came out in a breathy gasp. She took a few deep breaths before noticing Sam and Dean crouched beside her. She took one look at Dean, put all her weight on her hands and kicked him square in the chest before bolting. Dean got the wind knocked out of him and Sam got up and chased her down.

"Wait! Cassandra! Bobby sent us! Bobby….sent us." Sam saw her go to a beat up old Ford pickup with fading and peeling red paint. The door was thrown open and as Sam got closer, he heard the distinctive slide of a magazine into a gun. She popped out from behind the car next to her and leveled a gun at him.

"Whoa! Bobby sent us to help!" Same threw up his hands and Dean came plodding over, rubbing his chest.

"I don't have time for bullshit, now get lost." She was backing into the driver's side seat and ready to hop in, keys in her hand.

"Bobby….ow…sent us about the demon who's been killing people all along the country."

She lowered her gun a little. "The one that makes Jackson Pollock look like an amateur?"

"Who?" Dean gave her a very confused look.

"A painter Dean, and yeah. Bobby says your family is next."

"I know." With that she hopped into her truck and started the engine. Sam and Dean bolted over to the Impala and turned the engine over just in time to hear her peel out.

"Must be in a hurry." Dean said as he threw the car into reverse and stepped on the gas. He climbed on the steering wheel, turning the car towards the exit and shifted it into drive to chase after the beat up Ford pickup. It seemed like he hit every red light on the face of the Earth and the boys could see Cassandra pounding on the steering wheel in frustration. More than once they had to blatantly run a red light just to keep up with her. Sam pondered over her rather hostile attitude, wondering why she was so edgy. Bobby had said she'd let them help if they said he'd sent them. Was she that overly cautious of everyone?

"Why do you think she ran?" Sam asked aloud.

"Huh?" Dean was a little preoccupied trying to keep up and trying not to think about his ribs. Though she kicked him hard enough she may have broken one. And that sucks.

"Why do you think she kicked you and ran, Dean?"

"I dunno. Chicks probably crazy. You'd have to be to run away from this mug." Dean raised his eyebrows, smiling smugly. Sam just looked at his brother incredulously.

"What? How can you run from someone this roguishly handsome?" Dean himself was confused by her adverse reaction upon seeing them. Hell, she kicked him and knocked the wind out of him trying to get away. Normally his lost tourist gimmick drew women closer and scored him a few numbers. With this girl it apparently had the opposite effect. It was only slightly disturbing.

"Uh…Dean?"

"What?"

"She just turned right there."

"Crap!" Dean slammed on the brakes and cranked the wheel, drifting into the turn Cassandra had made and took the turn a little fast. Sam pushed against the roof and dashboard so he didn't get tossed around too much as Dean straightened out. They were in suburbia hell, with its cul' de sacs and cookie cutter houses. Cassandra was ahead of them, tearing up the road as she booked it home. Dean was forced to take it slower because he didn't know the area so well. Finally they saw her red truck parked outside of a house and pulled up just as she was running up the walk way.

Cassandra stopped at the door, her nerves fried as she fumbled with the keys. After about ten seconds of unsuccessfully trying to find the right key, she tossed them over her shoulder and took a deep breath. Then she put all her anger and fear into a kick right next to the lock. The frame cracked and the door went flying open.

"Charlie!" she yelled as she ran past the stairs and entryway, into the kitchen and screamed. The living room at the back of the house looked like a bomb went off.


End file.
